Titanic
by Miyako Shinohara
Summary: To embark in the ship of dream was like falling into hell for wealthy Lukas Bondevik. To embark in the ship of dreams was like a last chance for Mathias Køhler. Both getting to live a whole new life, on a mortal maiden trip.
**Disclaimer : Hetalia and its characters belongs to Hidekaz Himayura (our Lord and Savior). The plot of this fanfiction is largely inspirated from the movie of James Cameroun, Titanic. There's added scenes of my own and the dialogues can sometimes be very similar. Nothing bad I guess.**

 **Credits : THE AWESOME ME and my awesome best friend without whom there would have been none of this, who helped me with the cast, finding the picture and motivating me when I got lazy. Love ya.**

 **WARNING ! THE AUTHOR IS IN NO WAY RESPONSIBLE FOR BREAKING HEARTS OR CAUSING EITHER SADNESS OR PAIN DUE TO "FEELS". THIS IS A KIND OF REVENGE AGAINST AUTHORS WHO ACTUALLY MADE ME "ACTUALLY FEELING THE PAIN WHEN THE CHARACTERS ARE FICTIONNAL" (best friend I say hi to you) YOU'RE WELCOME SWEETIE PIES (don't ask).**

 **HAVE A GOOD TIME READING ! (following and reviewing are so much appreciated and can motivate the lazy being that I am)**

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I

Giant and Imposant, Immobile and full of Life. There she stood, the unsinkable « ship of dream ».

It seemed impossible to tell how much would she weight, for she was so big it would be incalculable. She was so gigantic, one could easily fear for it to reverse the water line the minute she would make a move. She was imposant, dominating us humans as would the titans do in foreign folklores. And pretty much like them, the Titanic wore best her first name, graved in gold noble letters on her dark blue skin. So high up above the water, she looked like she touched the sky, its clouds, and maybe went even farther. She was so long and large, I came to wonder if she covered the entire harbour by her dark precense.

That is the strict truth about what I thought of the Titanic, still stuck on my seat in our familial car. One could just make a constat of the great figure proof of naval expertise, however, I refused to bow my judgement to that rectangle of steel, for I knew this ship, as great as she was, could do me no good, instead could crush my mood.

People called it the ship of dream. For me it wasn't.

« We've arrived, dear. » My mother's voice.

I was lost in my thought of the gigangtic steely precense in front of us, when the car suddenly stopped. The sun blinded me as the door opened, and I hurried to get my hat on my head. Soon enough, I was out of the car, my fancy boots on the dirty floor, in the middle of a great mess made of all kind of people.

Poor little girls and boys and their poor parents, poor workers coming from factories maybe, all wearing cheap dirty old clothing, were moving forward, taking the sanitary tests that we were exempted of, shouting to one another in the fool language of the street. They must have had collective diets to buy their tickets, or some might have stolen it. I would have covered my ears if I didn't have an inch of respect.

Men in navy uniforms were shouting orders, others in more basic sailor suits that I found very wearable obeyed like docile puppies, doing hard work. The sailors weren't usually so devoted. I often saw in my teen years, when I felt adventurous and skiped classes to wander, groups of them sitting in uncrowded areas of the port, lazing around when they were supposed to work. To toil obviously wasn't their favourite activity. I didn't think much of it, even if ships were not easy to deal with, and that too much negligence could cause them to founder later. But I guess the sailors themselves were impressed by the great ship they would be conducting, the immense wealths they would move above the water, and the high wages that would come with such high class monument .

After the poor and the workers, came the nobles. Ladies with fancy hats and their husbands with costumes, followed by their maids and butlers, were taking the privilegied road to the mighty ship, granted to rest at the best part of it. The wealthiest men of the country, the prettiest ladies of the aristocracy, the most disgusting douchebags that proceeded to show off their gold in their free time. Those who will fully experience the most luxurious parts of the so called « most luxurious ship of the world ». Those who were the same as me. I wouldn't mind if it could change in this instant.

I felt a precense in my back. I didn't need to turn around to see who it was.

« I don't see what all the fuss is about. It doesn't look any better than any other ship. » I said, turning my head to face her.

« You can criticize any ship that you wish but certainly not Titanic. It's far more big, and far more luxurious, that any other in the world.» She said.

She turned around to face my mother, coming out of the car at her turn. She had clean golden hair that floated in the wind when she moved, smooth white skin that could be mistaken for porcelain, and that looked like glowing at the touch of the sun rays. Her eyes were blue, a deep, hot shade of blue displaying a fierce and serious look . Her only apparent « flaw » would be her big glasses that she failed to hide with her hair bangs, excentric hats and headgears. But she was probably the only person on Earth to think glasses were a flaw. Kristina Oxenstierna, from the famous swedish household, was indeed very beautiful, but my heart still hated her a little bit more each time I looked at the ring on my finger that united us.

« Very difficult to impress aren't you ? » said , my fiancée, in a harsh tone, before turning her attention to my mother.

« So this is the ship they say is unsinkable. » My mother said, reaching to her flower-like hat with her hand and steping a little bit closer to the Titanic. She had short blond hair, the same shade as me. We were so much alike but our ideas and hopes weren't. She craved to keep her comfortable and wealthy condition, I craved for something more than comfort.

« It is » approved Kristina. « God himself could not sink this ship. »

Kristina was a very close friend of the shipbuilder of the Titanic, a certain Arthur Kirkland from Britain, an expert at all that has to do with ships and naval architecture. His quality work has brought him as far as becoming head of the drafting department of Harland and Wolff, with all the fame it brings. Kristina told me he showed her the plans of the ship, and explained how she could not sink even with four compartiments full of water. The « swede » seemed very delighted today, followed by her personal maid, a small satisfied smile on her face (because she wasn't known for smiling a lot, kind of like me).

We made our way to the upper space to embark in the ship. People were taking uncolored pictures , waving goodbyes, some were even crying. Parting ways with your family or your significant other was not always easy to handle. I didn't really know what it would feel like, since my family seemed to constantly stick to me like glue. The voyage would take four whole days until we arrived in America. I have never been in America before –most of the people here haven't- and Kristina insisted our wedding to be held in The United States, for she had family of her own there.

« Do you have my coat ? » I addressed to the maid behind me.

« I have it Mister. »

I nodded, averting my gaze to the Titanic one more time. I wondered how big it would be inside. It seemed so heavy, I thought it would be easy for it to sink. That thought didn't bother me much. With everyone blabbering about its famous nickname« The Unsinkable » it had to be for some good reasons.

« Welcome to the Titanic. »

We were greeted at the front opening just like Kings would be greeted, when we finally penetrated in the mighty ship. Kristina and my mother were smiling to their ears, taking a big and admiring look to the inside, making comments and comments about how they « love the interior design ! » And we are not even in our apartments. I sighed.

« Lukas, my dear, smile. You are in the most beautiful, luxurious ship of the world ! » My mother throwed at me, a pleading and an order at the same time, that only brushed against my will and never got at. Everyone was smiling in awe. I looked inside the ocean liner with a bored, depressed look.

It was the ship of dream to everyone else, for me it was a slave ship. Taking me to the Land of Opportunity in sweet luxurious furnitures that looked and felt like chains for my eyes and skin. Outside, I was everything a good society boy should be.

Inside, I was screaming.

* * *

« This one here. »

I said to my maid. We were unpacking, as we finally arrived to our apartments, composed of numerous rooms each one as fancy and breathtaking as the other. The walls were a woody brown color, the carpet of the floor was perfectly polished, there were beautiful plants in the huge balcony from where we could have a fantastic view of the ocean. The furnitures were beautiful, the big cheminée was astonishing, and the roses added a good smell to the painting. In short, everything that goes with the most expensive tickets of the oceanliner, provided to overall atmosphere was nice, to say the least, however, I still felt trapped in those dark walls. A cell could not feel any different.

From the time we arrived –which was thirty minutes ago- I stayed outdoor in the terace while the others were enjoying their time in the rooms. I needed to breathe. The thirty minutes I enjoyed by myself there were probably the best I got in this ship, until I met him however. I decided to come back in the room that would be my bedroom, and started unpacking my paintings with the help of my maid. Art was very important for me, since it was my only escape tool to say the least. Back there in Norway, I often locked myself in my room and painted such things as farms, islands, mountains, rainy landscapes and clouded skies. I loved spending hours painting, even though I was actually very bad at it. But some people could not understand that.

« Those paintings again ? I didn't know you brought them with you. »

Again, I didn't turn my head to face her, I knew I would only find disdain in her look. Instead I focused on the painting in front of me.

« What's the name of the painter anyway ? »

« Something Picasso… » I said, wondering what his first name could be.

« Something Picasso ? » she laughed. « I don't think someone named « Picasso » can amount to anything. These paintings were a waste of money.»

Kristina turned her back, taking a sip of her wine glass. I sighed. She acted like a douchebag all the time, treating me as some lower class. Perhaps it was for the reason that she, or rather her money, was the only hope left for my family.

I adverted my gaze back at the beautiful work of art. Here's at least something worth attention.

« Lukas, dear ? »

I looked at my mother from the corner of my mind, knowing already what she would say.

« We are going upstairs to meet with the people… »

« Yeah sure, i'll prepare myself. »

She never liked it when I stopped her when she spoke, and I knew it pissed her off. She didn't say anything else, she just walked away to her personnal apartment, perhaps to get another hat. Or that new purse she just bought. I left my precious collection on the floor, the maid would just arrange it later anyway.

I took a whole lot of time, mostly because I didn't want to leave my room. When I got at the upper balcony, I noticed night had already fallen. The stars were shining bright and the lights lightened the area in a perfect way. It was almost a good evening. Well, almost, because before I could enter the common room, I felt something holding my waist really tight, like some silver chain on a prisoner's neck.

« You took your time… I was thinking about going back getting you. »

She was holding me even tighter, in the beauty of the night. I didn't think she would wait for me, or notice I wasn't there yet. And for some reason, I turned and took her in my arms. She certainly felt relieved, as she let down a long sigh. Was it honest or not ? Sometimes her behaviours was so paradoxal, what to think, I never know.

For some other reason, I let myself relax. I sighed as well. I wanted to say something, anything, like an apology for being too late. Maybe she really thought about getting me. Maybe Kristina Oxenstierna cared in some ways afterall. Holding to this little faint of hope, I started saying some words. But I got stopped just like I did with my mother, though it did something more than pissing me off.

« Next time show up at time, you know I hate waiting. And you better get used to it. »

That was it. Too much was too much. I was going to apologize to her and that is how she treats me.

I nearly pushed her off me, and went running for the white stairs, feeling my eyes getting teary as I heard her calling and calling my name but not bothering running after me. Afterall, why would she take the risk to break her new perfect heels.

There was absolutly no kind of respect from her at that moment. In an instant, I felt my whole world crawling, as if it wasn't already enough rotten. I ran, and ran, and kept running until my feet couldn't take it anymore. The wood of the floor resonated under my fast steps, and the tears were now flowing. I had no motivation to hold them back now. The lights coming from the rooms around me looked welcoming and warm.

I still took the forbidden way leading to the cold waves of the ocean.

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 **THIS IS IT FOR THE FIRST CHAPTER !**

 **Hope it's not too bad, and that you liked reading it. Critic is great when it is meaningful.**

 **I guess the cast is pretty obvious, and Kristina is the name I choose for nyo!sweden.**

 **SEE YOU NEXT TIME SWEETIE PIES**


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